


Memories are Made of This

by Ozdiva



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-02 20:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozdiva/pseuds/Ozdiva
Summary: Marilla and John are married, late in life. These are stories of their life together.





	1. Parenthood

Parenthood

Marilla attempted to pick up her granddaughter Sara, Dora's daughter; who at nineteen months was stubbornly refusing to walk, content to scoot around on her bottom; but there was a problem. Marilla bent over with her arms around Sara's armpits, unable to stand up again. It wasn't that her back hurt, just that Sara suddenly seemed too heavy. Marilla stood up again and regarded the baby on the floor. "Well madam, it's time for your nap, but it appears I won't be the one putting you in your cot after all. John," she called out. "Can you give me a hand?"

John was out the back door and he came in at once. "What can I do?"

"Put Sara in the cot, please. It's time for her nap, and she's grown too heavy for me."

"Isn't Rachel coming soon?"

"Yes, she should be here in a few minutes. I'll just put the kettle on."

John scooped Sara up into his arms and carried her off to the spare bedroom where they kept a cot for visiting grandchildren.

Marilla bustled around the kitchen setting out the tea things. She'd baked earlier in the day and had a fresh batch of plum puffs looking particularly delicious on their plate. A knock on the door heralded her oldest friend and she welcomed Rachel in, saying that John would be in to join them presently. "He's just putting little Sara down for her nap."

The two women sat down at the kitchen table, Rachel eyed the plate. "Ooh, Marilla. You know how I enjoy one of your puffs."

"You make them sound quite sinful, Rachel."

Rachel roared with laughter, until Marilla shushed her, "shh, the baby."

With the tea poured and the puffs on individual plates, the ladies settled in for a yarn. After a while Marilla wondered where John had gotten to, "I'll just go in and check everything's all right, if you'll excuse me for a moment." She stood up and walked over to the room closing the door softly behind her. Rachel stayed sitting down looking around the kitchen. The room was almost as familiar as her own, so often had she visited over the years. Marilla came back in and declared "sleeping like a baby" as she deposited Sara in Rachel's lap*. Not only had John failed to get Sara to nap, he had instead fallen asleep himself.

"Why would he be so exhausted?" Rachel asked with a wink.

"Rachel! It's nothing like that I promise you. We had Davy's boys up here yesterday. They always exhaust us. You know I never thought I'd ever see the like of young Davy, but now he has these twins who are every bit as rambunctious as he ever was."

"Double the trouble, as they say," Rachel commented.

"Indeed. Poor John is run off his feet keeping them out of mischief." Marilla was rummaging around in the pantry for a husk of bread to keep Sara happy, judging that plum puffs would merely be smeared all over her face, hair and dress, something her mother would not be happy to see when she came to pick her up at the end of the day. When she located a nice piece, she held it out for Sara.

"Is this one any closer to walking?" Rachel enquired.

"Doesn't seem remotely interested. Sometimes I think I should employ her to polish my floors."

Rachel placated Marilla "I've heard that the ones that never crawl can be late walkers. She'll get there eventually."

"I'm sure. It makes it hard work for Dora though. I found out just this afternoon that I couldn't pick Sara up from the floor."

A gigantic snore emanated from the bedroom making Rachel raise her eyebrows. "Goodness, I hope John isn't always that noisy at night."

Marilla rolled her eyes, "sometimes."

Dora and Ralph had planned a trip to the beach and had invited Marilla and John to join them. It was a beautiful hot summer's day, perfect for paddling adults and babies. After their picnic the women sat on the blanket under a parasol Marilla had brought along for the purpose, while the men took young Sara for a stroll along the beach, her clear laugh sounded like a bell when the men dipped her toes into the rolling waves.

Dora sobbed all of a sudden.

"What is it Dora?"

Dora merely continued to sob. Marilla pulled Dora's head down onto her lap, sometimes it was easier to bare one's soul when you weren't looking directly at the other person. She sat there with her daughter weeping in her lap, watching a seagull as it dipped and soared above them. They sat there for a while, until Marilla could feel her skirts dampen with Dora's tears. Eventually Dora said, "I just feel so guilty, Marilla."

"Guilty?" Marilla was honestly perplexed, she couldn't imagine what her perfectly behaved daughter could have to feel guilty about.

"It's just you know, now I'm a mother myself, I have a better understanding of what Mama went through. At the time I was just angry that she couldn't look after Davy and I."

"Darling Dora, it's perfectly natural that you should feel that way. You were just a baby really, but her illness meant you were denied a childhood."

"It's wicked though isn't it, to feel that way?"

"Has this been weighing on your mind darling?" Marilla stroked her youngest daughter's blonde hair as it cascaded down her skirts. "It's far from dreadful to feel that way. You should have had much easier time and then there was Davy." She felt rather than heard Dora's muffled sob. Marilla's hearing was not as keen as it once was, but she could imagine what anguish was being suffered down in her skirts.

"Davy?" Dora lifted her head imperceptibly so that the sound could escape and turned her head to get more air, it was stifling with her face pressed into Marilla's lap. "Why do you mention Davy?"

"It's just you know I don't think I'll ever forget that first week with you both, and by that I mean with Davy."

"He was a harum scarum."

"He was that. I should have spent more time mothering you, Anne too. But we were at our wit's end managing your brother. You were so well behaved, it was too easy to forget you, but you were grieving for your mother, your home. I feel guilty about that time. Do you recall the time he locked you in the Harrison's shed?"

"Vaguely."

"We dragged the well before Anne eventually found you. Davy thought it was getting a bit dull and decided to liven things up."

"Oh."

"Yes, I was terribly cross with him. Anne was able to placate me and chastise Davy. I don't think I could have managed without her. But I should have done more to help you."

"Marilla, you mustn't feel that way. You and Anne were perfect. You protected me, you cared for me, I couldn't have had better parents, please don't say you feel sad about that time. It was as though I had arrived in heaven."

"Do you remember your mother?"

"Only snatches really. She was always in bed, always tired. She had no energy to look after either of us."

"And your father?"

Dora was silent for a moment. To tell the truth, Dora did have dim, distant memories of her father, but they were mostly unhappy. "Some. I can remember cowering under the bedroom covers with Davy, listening to raised voices below. We never knew what the arguments were about, but I can recall my feeling of unease and worry. Davy always thought they were arguing about him and it fell to me to placate him, though to be honest I really had no idea if he was to blame or not.

When Papa moved out west for work, it was a mixed blessing. The arguments ceased, but then Mama was left to fend for herself" Dora paused, "It's just now I'm a mother I understand how difficult it must have been for her I find it exhausting enough and I'm not ill. I mean I'm not feeling well, but I know why."

"Are you having another baby, darling?"

"Mmm, I think so. I'm exhausted all the time, I find it so hard to manage Sara. I didn't have any sympathy for Mama back then, but it must have been so very difficult for her."

"Darling you were barely more than a baby yourself. You weren't to know how hard it was for her. Have you told Ralph how you feel?"

"No, he'll think I'm being ridiculous."

"He won't darling, he'll be sympathetic. You should tell him what's on your mind. Look, they're coming back. They'll be thirsty. You lie there and I'll pour them some water." Marilla was determined to continue to help Dora any way she could.

Lying in bed that night, Marilla sighed.

"What is it?" John enquired.

"Dora. She's feeling guilty."

"Dora?" John was mystified. "What could she possibly be feeling guilty about?"

"Her feelings towards her mother," Marilla explained.

"She was just a baby surely?" John countered.

"Yes, but now that she's a mother herself she feels guilty about the resentment she harboured."

"Dora's mother was ill, wasn't she?"

Marilla replied, "practically all Dora's life, until the poor woman died."

"Well that was hardly Dora's fault."

"No, but she feels she should have been more sympathetic."

"Ah, that's tricky. What's brought this up now?"

"She's pregnant again. She thanked me for helping last time. "It'll be even worse this time, I suppose I had better rise to the occasion again." Marilla suggested.

"No." John countered.

"What? Whatever do you mean? I'm her mother, it's my job to help out."

"No Marilla, it's really not. We're not getting any younger. This time Ralph's mother can help out. I think we should do less with Davy's boys too. Look at me the other day, I fell asleep in the middle of the day after looking after them. We can't keep up. We have to look after ourselves and let the younger folk do the child rearing."

"You're not saying we can't see them anymore are you?"

"Of course not, I'm just saying we can't be baby-sitting all the time. I don't know about you, but I just don't have the energy I once had."

"You know," Marilla said "it is nice to have you looking out for me." She snuggled into his side as he caressed her hair.

"Sometimes I think I do a better job of it than you do."

"Mm, look after me some more right now, would you?"

"That is never a chore, Mrs Blythe." He turned out the light and rolled towards his wife.

* I know there's a plot hole here with Marilla being unable to pick Sara up because she's too heavy and then carrying her out to Rachel's lap shortly after. Let's just say picking her up from her cot is easier than from the floor.


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Andrews is concerned that Sara is not walking and plans to take matters into her own hands.

Despite John's exhortations to Marilla to look after herself rather than Dora, Marilla found it terribly difficult to take a back seat, especially as Dora was struggling. As her belly swelled, she found it increasingly difficult to care for Sara. She and Ralph had consulted the doctor about her refusal to walk and were told that there was nothing inherently wrong with her, and that she would start to walk eventually.

Tick – tock, tick – tock the clock ticked loudly in the parlour. The only other sound was that of little Sara as she played with her blocks on the floor; stacking them one on top of the other in a crazy lopsided tower and then laughing gleefully when she pushed the stack over, only to start again. Mrs Andrews regarded her, frowning silently. Without looking at Dora she said "You must understand how this looks. We have never had such a late walker in the Andrews family. I do hope there is nothing amiss."

Dora got the distinct feeling the worry was more for her Andrews family's reputation than for Sara herself. "The … the doctor assures me there is nothing the matter," Dora stammered. "It's just a matter of time."

She was naturally concerned at Sara's lack of progress, other children her age were already running. Dora's friends were busy lamenting how fast they were and how quickly they got into mischief. While it was physically easier to have her not yet walking while she herself was so large with Sara's younger sibling, the criticism from her mother in law was increasingly hard to bear.

Marilla was over at Dora's, mopping the floors as young Sara napped. As she slopped the water around she looked over at Dora with some concern. Dora may not have ever been effusive, but she was quiet even for her. "Are you all right darling? Can I bring you anything?"

Tears sprang to Dora's eyes as she regarded the woman she considered her mother, "No, no I'm fine, Marilla, really." She turned away to fetch a handkerchief to wipe the tears away. Marilla set the mop against the kitchen table and walked over to Dora, enveloping her in her arms. "I can see it isn't. What's the matter? What's happened?"

Dora hesitated to burden Marilla, but she really did feel desperate, "It's Mother Andrews, she's concerned about Sara, I'm sure she thinks I'm a terrible mother, that it's my fault. Is it my fault, Marilla? Am I doing something wrong?"

Marilla led Dora over to the sofa and sat her down. "You've been worried about Sara for a while now, darling?"

"Uh huh," nodded Dora. "We've consulted the doctor who says it's just a matter of time. But I don't even think Mother Andrews is worried about Sara, she's worried about the family reputation. As though, as though having a cripple…"

"Sara is no cripple, darling."

"As though having a cripple would be a stain on the family," Dora continued, "it's so hurtful."

"What does Ralph say?"

"He says I should ignore his mother. He says he'll ask her to back off. But I can't hide behind him forever."

The next day Marilla resolved to pay a visit to Mrs Andrews. She did not like confrontation, but felt she had best strike while the iron was hot. She dressed in her visiting clothes, making sure that her hair was neat and tidy, and her best dress and hat were clean. She had an impression to make. As she climbed into the buggy, John kissed her and told her to keep her temper.

"I assure you I may not. That woman needs to mind her manners regarding my daughter and her daughter in law. It is absolutely outrageous that she is making Dora miserable. I won't stand for it."

Once she had arrived, she checked her temper. It would achieve nothing to lose it before she got started. Taking a few deep breaths, Marilla climbed down from the buggy and walked over to the Andrews' front door, rapping it twice with her knuckles.

"Good morning, Mrs Blythe. How lovely to see you again," if Mrs Andrews was shocked to see Marilla standing on her doorstep first thing in the morning, she hid it well, "do come in."

Marilla walked in to the house. She had been there often enough, for Ladies Aids meetings among other things. It was rather overstuffed with knick knacks for Marilla's taste.

"Shall we have tea?" Mrs Andrews offered, her hand hovering over the maid's bell.

"No thank you, this is not a social call," Marilla replied testily.

"Oh. Well what have you to say to me then? Is it about Dora by any chance. Are you going to tell me that the baby is finally walking?"

"Now look here Mrs Andrews, your ridiculously high standards are creating an unnecessary rod for Dora's back. She has enough on her plate with Sara and her pregnancy. I told her to go to you for help too, but she's not getting it, is she? Instead you are using the situation as an opportunity to criticize her parenting skills. It's not her fault Sara isn't walking yet. I had a chat to my son in law, Doctor Blythe, about it and he told me that it is unusual, but not unknown for a child to take this long to get on their feet, and that children who scoot on their bottoms are notoriously slow. I want you to support Dora, surely you, of all people can recall what it is like to be pregnant."

"Unlike you," smirked Mrs Andrews. Marilla felt blood rush to her cheeks.

"That was uncalled for, Mrs Andrews. I may not have given birth, as you well know, but I have mothered three children myself and grand mothered numerous babes. I well understand how much work it is, yet you seem to have forgotten. Are you so mean spirited that you can use this trying time as a point scoring exercise, Mrs Andrews? I see that you are as small minded as ever."

Marilla drew breath and waited for Mrs Andrews' response, when there was none, she just looked at the woman, pointedly. Thinking that while it was a shame she herself never married when she was young, it did at least mean she never was saddled with such a mean mother in law. Eventually Mrs Andrews responded, "now you listen here Mrs Blythe, your charge Dora."

"I consider her my daughter, as you well know," Marilla countered.

"Your charge," reiterated Mrs Andrews "married my son against my better judgement. Ralph assured me that despite Dora's patchy beginnings," Marilla visibly bridled at that, "she would make an excellent wife and mother to any Andrews progeny. Now it seems that my hesitation was correct. If this baby grows up to be a cripple, it will be a terrible stain on the Andrews' good name."

"For heaven's sake, the child is not yet two years old and you have already written her off."

"She is over eighteen months and to the best of my knowledge shows no interest in walking. That is cause for concern surely. Dora and you seem to think all is normal, I assure you it is not. Ralph was walking by twelve months, I will have you know. Any deficiency comes from the Keith side, not the Andrews'. If she does not walk soon, I think the only alternative will be to put her in a home for cripples and forget about her."

Marilla stared at Mrs Andrews, aghast and speechless, recognising that Mrs Andrews was deadly serious. Marilla knew she had to get out of there before she made a scene. Standing up suddenly, she rushed out of the house.

John looked out at the gate about an hour after Marilla had left. He hoped nothing untoward had happened. Marilla would always advocate on behalf of her children, sometimes to the detriment of good manners. Was that the buggy returning? He walked out to the gate to open it. Marilla drove in, a face full of thunder. "I take it, it didn't go well?"

"That woman! She..." Marilla trailed off. She had no words.

"Come in, you can tell me over coffee."

In the comforting Green Gables kitchen, John poured the coffee into two cups and sat watching Marilla as she gradually calmed down. "Mrs Andrews is not remotely worried about Sara per se. Her only concern is for family honour. She told me she had her misgivings when Ralph proposed to Dora, and that now she feels vindicated."

"Misgivings, what sort of misgivings could she have had?" John was perplexed.

Marilla explained, "because Dora is an orphan."

"My lord. What a woman, poor Dora."

"Yes, if I had known her feelings on the matter, I would have interceded myself, I expect."

"What did you have to say to that?" John would have liked to have been a fly on the wall for this conversation.

"I'm afraid I ran away, I was afraid I would make a scene. I'll have to come up with a better response soon. She said if Sara didn't walk soon, they would arrange to put her in a home for cripples."

"My God!" John clapped his hands to his mouth, "she'd do that?"

Marilla nodded, "she was deathly serious."

././././. 

Green Gables  
Dearest Anne

I hope this letter finds you well, as it leaves us. I had a headache earlier this week, but I assure you I am on the mend.

Our darling Dora is melancholic. At seven months pregnant you might think she should be euphoric, but she is worried about Sara who is still refusing to stand on her own two feet without assistance. I help out when I can, but I'm unable to do much as I find Sara too heavy to carry these days. So, instead of having her at Green Gables too often, I have been going over to Dora's house to help out with the housework.  
I had hoped that Mrs Andrews would be of some assistance, but it seems she thinks Dora is akin to an unfit mother and makes no bones about telling her whenever she gets a chance. Poor Dora has been brought down quite low about the matter.

As Mrs Andrews herself pointed out, I have not reared little ones personally. Can you believe the audacity of that woman? She smirked as she said it too. I had the beginnings of a headache threading through my temples as she spoke, and it took all my years of training to behave politely and not smack her cheek.

In any case if you, and perhaps Gilbert, could drop Dora a line, I would appreciate it. You two have far more experience in these matters than I, and Dora may listen to you more than she will to me. She of course is far politer about it, but it is true that my experience on these matters is limited.

Your devoted mother,  
Marilla Blythe

Ingleside  
Dearest sister,

I hear you are having a rather difficult time with young Sara. Marilla tells me she is not yet walking. Dora, I know you must be several months along by now, this must be so hard for you. Now Marilla also told me that Mrs Andrews is not being as supportive as she might be.

Darling, I want you to disregard whatever unkind nonsense she is uttering. Babies are notorious for developing at different times, Sara might be a tad slow to walk, but this is absolutely no reflection on you or your parenting. I may not be in close proximity, darling, but I can only imagine what a perfect mother you must be. You have always been so caring, so considerate of others; perfect attributes for any mother. You are a wonderful mother to Sara and to your next child and any further children you and Ralph have. Darling I want you to tell Marilla or I, if Mrs Andrews continues to criticize you. You know as well as I what a marvelous advocate we both have in Marilla. She is not afraid to defend us against anyone should the need arise. People can be so unkind, but us Green Gables folk will always stick together.

I have a suggestion for you. Nan and Di are of a useful age by now, at eleven. I'm sure they think they are too young yet, but I couldn't even count the number of diapers I had changed by that age. They are certainly capable of helping out around the house and with young Sara, taking some of the pressure off you at this stressful time. School is out Friday next, I'll send them over to you, if you agree, on the following Monday.

Your beloved sister,  
Anne 

Ingleside  
Dear Dora,

On Anne's request I've done a little research on late walkers, particularly non crawlers such as your Sara. Now of course I haven't had a chance to examine her, but assuming there are no underlying issues, she should walk independently eventually. This may be small comfort to you right now as constantly carrying a child whilst you are also pregnant is trying. My advice would be to frustrate Sara. Don't carry her, place objects of desire just put her reach - unless she stands up. It will be noisy, she will scream, but hopefully she will also learn to pull herself up. Cruising, that is walking whilst hanging on, is an important step (if you will pardon the pun) towards walking. Hopefully in a short time she will get the hang of it and you'll be complaining that she's running you off your feet.

With love  
Gilbert Blythe

Avonlea  
Dearest Sister

I want express my heart felt thanks for your encouraging letter. I admit I have been feeling sad and hopeless about my ability to care for Sara. I feel pathetic that at my age I still have to rely on you and Marilla to fight my battles and support me. I should be able to stand up to Mother Andrews. I am an adult and now a mother myself. And yet somehow I find she expresses out loud all my hidden fears. What if Sara never does walk? What will we do then? Could I keep her here, could I manage? Or will we have to put my darling in a home for cripples? I don't think I could bear that Anne.

I think these terrible dark thoughts, but I never express them. Marilla must think them too, but kindly she keeps them to herself, but Mother Andrews seems to delight in making me feel small and insignificant and a failure somehow.

She already thought I was not really good enough to marry her son. I had an unconventional upbringing, was an orphan, had no standing in the community, and now this.

On another note, it is lovely of you to offer to send your girls over. I feel I should decline, but I spoke to Ralph about it and he agrees that it is a splendid idea. Not only will their help be very welcome, but it would be lovely to get to know the girls better and for the cousins to bond.

I will put them in the guest bedroom. The bed there is big enough for two.

With love  
Dora 

Ingleside  
Dearest sister

Did you know that Billy Andrews once proposed to me, though he was too much of a coward to do it in person, and dragooned Jane to deliver the proposal by proxy. Naturally I refused, not just because I didn't care for Billy. I believed, rightfully I suspect, that Mother Andrews and I would endure a fiery relationship. Darling if you are not good enough, what would she have made of me? Next time she starts in on you, I want you to think of what I would say in that situation. If you are at her place, just leave. Just stand up, gather Sara up and walk home. You do not, I repeat, you do not have to listen to that toxic talk.  
What does Ralph have to say on the matter? Can he stand up to his mother?

Nan and Di will arrive on the 4 o'clock train. They are very excited.

With fondest love  
Anne


	3. You've Got to be Cruel to be Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nan and Di Blythe arrive to encourage little Sara to walk.

Di and Nan Blythe were very excited. It had been arranged that they, and they alone, would be travelling to Avonlea to help their Aunt Dora look after their little cousin Sara. They had met Sara last Christmas, but they expected she was more animated and cuter by now. Both girls often felt their family considered them too young and considered this their chance to be treated like the mature eleven-year-olds they felt themselves to be. "Eleven is not a child any longer," Nan muttered to Di, "maybe after this, Mother and Dad will treat us with a bit more respect." Di nodded earnestly, she felt the same way, that their parents treated them like children.

The girls had been placed on the train after many heartfelt farewells. Anne and Gilbert had thought long and hard but decided that as the twins were together and would be picked up at the train station, they could be trusted to manage the journey unassisted. "After all, Gil," Anne reasoned, "I was journeying by myself at the same age. No one thought I was too young."

Aunt Marilla and Grandpa John were at the station to meet them as expected. The girls were enfolded into their grandmother's arms as soon as they disembarked. John collected their baggage and then gave them both a quick hug. "Thank you for agreeing to come, girls," Marilla enthused, "your Aunt Dora could really do with a hand."

Little Sara was just as cute as the girls imagined. She had her mother and her uncle Davy's white hair and bright blue eyes. She had this funny way of getting around, on her bottom which made the older girls giggle at first. Until their Aunt Dora told them that was part of the problem. "It's time she learnt to walk, as sweet as it looks."

"Yes, Dad told us," Nan replied, "he says we're to make life difficult for her."

"I expect it will be a bit noisy around here, she's not going to like it. It's for the best though." Dora did not tell the girls about Mother Andrew's opinions regarding Sara. She knew they would be appalled.

27 May  
Avonlea

Dearest Jane,

Your little niece, Sara is still not walking at twenty months. I am very concerned. I believe Dora and Ralph are foolishly ignoring this fact. Mrs Blythe is no better. It is as if they are all living in some fairy realm. None of you took this long to walk, I expect there is something amiss with her. They believe they can care for the child in her state. I have told them that if she does not get onto her feet soon, I will be sending her to the asylum for crippled children where she belongs.

...

4 June  
Winnipeg

Dearest Mother,

What are you talking about? I believe little Sara is a delightful child. Surely you recall that all babies develop at different speeds. What I or Prissy or Billy or Ralph were up to at eighteen months is irrelevant. This is your granddaughter you are talking about. I worry that you will be equally judgmental if my Andrew or Victoria fail at some point. Please tell me that my fears are unfounded. I pray you leave Dora and Ralph alone and let Sara develop at her own pace.

...

Ruth Andrews had come to a decision, despite Jane's exhortations to let Sara be, she was sure there was a problem. Rather than have the family name besmirched she determined that it would be better for all concerned if Sara were placed in a home, where she would get the care she needed. Ruth couldn't understand why the family were against this, it was obvious to her. Thankfully there was another baby on the way, this new child could take attention off Sara, especially as it hopefully be normal. The world would soon forget the cripple, and no one would be any the wiser.

Since her fool son and his sentimental wife seemed to be in no hurry to place Sara in a home, Ruth determined to take care of matters herself. Choosing a day when she knew Ralph would be gone, and thus out of the way, she made her way over to their house with the express purpose of removing Sara.

Fortunately for Sara, Marilla and the twins were helping Dora out for the day. The twins were of course staying, while Marilla was visiting to help with the housework.

Di and Nan were doing their best to frustrate Sara, placing a delicious looking treat just out of her reach. It was hard work, Sara was crying in exasperation, she had tried to reach it by the normal method, but it was too high. Next, she looked at her big cousins and her Mama who were usually helpful, none of them moved a muscle. Sara let out a loud scream. The cake looked so nice too. "Take a bite," Dora suggested to Nan.

"That's so mean," Di commented, admiringly. She had thought her Aunt Dora was softer than that.

Smiling pointedly at Sara, Nan picked up the cake and took a big bite. Then said "Mmmm, yum yum, Sara, this cake is delicious," and rubbed her tummy, "if only you could reach it, Sara."

All eyes were on Sara as her little face turned pink with vexation, thus no one noticed the front door quietly opening. Before anyone had a chance to react, Mrs Andrews had plucked Sara from the floor and was walking out of the room towards the front door.

Several things happened at once.

Sara continued to scream, but now from shock as much as vexation.

Dora yelled "No!" and burst into tears.

Marilla sprang to barricade the door to stop Mrs Andrews from leaving.

The younger girls stood stock still with their mouths agape, not understanding what Mrs Andrews was doing.

"Now don't make a fuss," Ruth announced, "you know this is the right thing to do. Once you have had your baby, Dora, you'll forget all about Sara. I'm not going to hurt her, she'll be better off. Mrs Blythe, please let me through."

Marilla stood with her back to the door, stopping Mrs Andrews from leaving.

"Please don't make a scene, Marilla, it's embarrassing to all concerned."

"You are not taking that child, Ruth. Give her to me. Now!" Marilla's eyes were blazing.

"No."

"I am not moving. I will wait patiently."

Ruth looked around the room. The child was getting heavy, and she could see that there was no other way out. "You are all ridiculous. I don't understand you at all." Placing Sara in Marilla's arms, Ruth waited until Marilla stood aside to let her leave.

Dora sobbed as Marilla placed Sara in her arms. Marilla hugged them both gently and looked around to the twins. "Girls, could you bring us some tea, please?"

When the twins had departed for the kitchen, Marilla led Dora through to the sofa.

"She's been threatening to take Sara away for a while, but I never thought she'd actually go through with it," Dora said tearily.

"Hopefully, she sees that she can't get through our defenses, Dora darling. We won't let anything happen." Marilla consoled.

"Maybe, the twins can get her to walk?"

"That's the plan isn't it?"

"Gilbert says there's probably nothing wrong."

"Just give the girls' a bit of time. I'm sure they'll get her on her feet."

A day later Di was standing about a yard away from Nan, with little Sara between them. The girls were playing catch with Sara's favourite doll. They were careful to throw it just out her reach. If anyone had been able to ask Sara about her cousins, she would have told them she wasn't very fond of them right now. As it was she was crying in frustration as the doll was thrown slightly too high for her to catch. She turned this way and that, watching the doll intently, her hands outstretched.

Next Nan took hold of Sara by the arms and gently pulled her up to standing, balancing her on her feet. They stood like that for a bit, until Nan walked Sara forward, encouraging her to move each foot. Di placed some cushions on the ground and they demonstrated crawling around and over them. This got Sara laughing and mimicking them.

The twins were always thinking up new ways to get Sara to move, making life difficult for her and putting up with her cries of frustration. They would walk together each holding on to one hand, and gradually let go of one hand and then the other, while at the same time encouraging her to walk. They would stand an arm's length away from Sara, hold out their hands, and give an encouraging "Come to me." Sometimes Sara would crawl towards them instead of walking and then climb up a leg. When that happened they would hold her by one hand and gradually let go as they backed away from her, encouraging her. They made it all a fun game, never getting cross when she couldn't manage it. Between them, they had infinite patience and energy.

Dora, increasingly heavy and uncomfortable was very relieved to have the girls around to help. She watched as Di picked up a grizzly Sara to put her down for a nap. "You girls are such a help to me. Do you need a day off?"

"What? No, this is so much fun, Aunty Dora," Nan responded with a smile, "we love looking after Sara. I just wish she would walk though, I think she'd love it."

Eventually one afternoon, shortly before Sara went down for her nap, she took one independent step and then another before plopping down on her bottom. Di gave a short gasp, which made Dora look up in shock. "What? what is it?"

"She just took a couple of steps on her own. She just walked. C'mon Sara, show Mama how clever you are."

Di lifted Sara up to her feet again and let go as she walked towards her mother. One ... two ... three ... four steps, and into her waiting mother's arms for a big hug. "You clever baby, well done darling." Dora twirled around with Sara in her arms, both of them laughing.

Green Gables  
Avonlea  
29 June

Dearest Anne

Well the twins have done it! Darling Sara is walking, and just in time too. Dora's waters broke shortly after Sara took her first steps and she was delivered of a bouncing baby boy, Henry Matthew. A gorgeous big boy with a faint smudge of fair hair. I suspect his hair will be white like Dora and Davy's. Ralph and Dora are delighted.

I have brought the girls back to Green Gables to give the young family some private time and to let the girls have a vacation, getting Sara to walk was a great deal of work.


	4. The White Rose Bush

The White Rose

"I took a slip of the little white scotch rose bush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago. Matthew always liked those roses the best - they were so small and sweet on their thorny stems."*

"Uh oh. Oh boys, this is not good. It's not good at all."

Little Matty and Tommy were over for the afternoon, their mother had a cold and had asked them to babysit for a few hours. There had been a suspicious silence for about half an hour, which in hindsight, John realised, was a harbinger of doom. Now as he peered out the front door, he could see what was left of Marilla's precious white rose bush. The bush she tended so lovingly, now hacked to pieces, petals and leaves strewn around the front yard.

* * * * *

It was just a slip of a thing, a little white rose bush. Tiny really, yet tenacious. It stood by the croft's front door bobbing in the wind. Its flowers had a rare, almost ghostly appearance especially when viewed by moonlight. When a traveler journeyed home the sight of it made one's heart glad and step lighter.

It predated their time in the small stone house, built by folk no one now knew. The croft had stood in that spot for decades. Each generation making the spare house their own, watching their bairns born, grow and move away. Throughout the little white rose bush watched over them all. A steady light to guide them home.

On rare sunny Scottish summer days, flowers would bloom, creating a sentinel against the green hillside. David Cuthbert would spy it on his journey home, bobbing in the gentle breeze. It looked fragile, but although a brutal wind might knock a few petals off, the rose bush flourished.

As crofters David and Constance Cuthbert had no land rights. When the Laird had told them via his agent that they were not making enough money from the land; sheep were more economical, they had to leave.

They had heard rumours up and down the valley of similar events. Last week the MacDonalds and the week before the Grays had been similarly ejected. Now they stood outside, the smoking embers providing the last remnants of warmth. A chilly wind blew smoke in their eyes, the acrid smell stayed in their nostrils for a long time. They hated to leave their home.

David Cuthbert presented his young wife Constance with the rose bush wrapped in a piece of hessian sack. It was the one last remnant of their lovingly tended garden. All that was left after the men ripped up their home.

The weather changed on this dreich day, now it began to sleet. The wind drove the slivers of ice into their cheeks. Constance tightly wrapped her shawl about her and David hugged her waist with his right arm. "Well we can't stay here."

"But where shall go?"

"The MacDonalds mentioned something about Glasgow, we should head for there."

"Aye." Constance trusted her husband in the matter. firmly grasping the rose bush in her cold red hands. They gave their home one backwards glance, thereby imprinting one last ghastly image on their brains. Their small stone house in ruins, a thin line of smoke reaching up to the glowering clouds.

The trip north, from the rural lowlands to the sprawling city of Glasgow was long and arduous. The weather was cold, and the roads muddy. They were not alone, many other folk had been tipped out of their houses too. They had with them a some food, a few coins, the clothes on their backs and the rose bush, that was all.

Eventually after a long journey they arrived in the big city. Glasgow was loud, dirty and busy. In their peasant clothes they stood out. They asked about for directions and some kind person directed them down to the docks. The River Clyde was teeming with ships, David fancied he could have walked clear across the wide river from ship to ship. The shipping agent told them there were a few destinations, America, Australia and Canada. David had heard of Canada, it was a popular destination for Scots and he believed they might be able to make a living there. A ship was found and they bought passage using up most of their coin.

Clutching each other they made their way over the gangplank and settled themselves in a bunk below decks. It was a noisome spot, but it would be their home for the next twelve weeks. Constance made the acquaintance of their bunk neighbours, other Scottish folk from various parts of the country. People they would be in close quarters with during the voyage.

The ship set sail that afternoon and almost immediately the sounds of folk being seasick commenced. David and Constance hugged each other for comfort, feeling decidedly bilious themselves. The stench intensified. If anyone had been able to keep the food in their stomach at first, the smell would have forced them to be ill shortly after, and the Cuthberts were no different. They spent the first days hunched over a bucket, taking turns as all around their neighbours were similarly afflicted.

The passage from Scotland to Canada was best forgotten. Passing as it did in the dark, disgusting hold of a tiny ship, buffeted to and fro across the northern Atlantic. David's stomach eventually settled down, but Constance's did not. She found out the reason why halfway through their voyage, as her belly began to swell.

They were relieved when land was sighted. A hurrah went up from the crow's nest and spirits aboard the ship lifted. Shortly after the ship docked at Halifax, Nova Scotia. "We'll be welcomed here, it's practically Scotland itself with that name," David remarked to Constance.

It felt strange to be on land, and in fact the rocking sensation stayed with them for hours after they disembarked. At the docks land agents were looking for labourers, promising them houses and good jobs. David as green as any new immigrant, though desperately wanting to appear more experienced, walked up to one such man and was offered a job on the spot on an island a few days' journeyaway, Prince Edward Island was its name. The agent arranged everything and along with some of their fellow passengers, the Cuthberts were bundled onto a carriage for the journey north.

The land was sparse, yet reminded them of home. It was bitterly cold though. They had been told that the winters here were colder than any they had experienced in Scotland, but found it hard to believe. Now it was apparent that the warnings had been correct. A bitter wind blew snowflakes all about. Constance feared for herself and for the rose bush she had tended throughout the voyage. It was her plan to plant it wherever they fetched up, a small reminder of home.

David started working for a rich farmer who provided them with a small house. Their son Matthew was born there, the first Cuthbert to be born in Canada. After a few years, David had saved enough money to enable them to buy a plot of good farming land in Avonlea, a small town on the island. They built their house with help from the neighbours, it was set back from the road a ways.

The Cuthbert family were quiet folk, not given to gossip. Being apart from the town suited them. David took the little white rose bush which had miraculously survived all this time and gently planted it by the front door to remind them of their little house on a Scottish hillside reluctantly left so long ago. A girl, Marilla was born in their little house, which they christened Green Gables on account of the roof colour.

Once the children were old enough, Constance told them the story of the little white rose bush; how it had greeted travellers back home in Scotland, how it had survived the ship's hold, and how it thrived despite the harsh Canadian winters.

* * * * *

John presented Marilla with the now torn up bush and poured its white petals into her hands. Matty and Tommy had never seen their grandmother weep, and they were very sorry to see her do it now. All she could say was a sorrowful "Oh." before she turned away for a private cry, waving John away. She stumbled out of the house walking swiftly, but without purpose. Eventually she fetched up at the trunk of an ancient apple tree, far from the road. She sank down onto its roots and sat there sobbing for some time, in deep despair.

The rose bush was her family's last tenuous link to their homeland. Marilla had watched her mother tend the bush through the harsh Canadian winters and had taken its care upon herself. She had betrayed her parents, betrayed their ancestors, betrayed her heritage.

"D-does G-granny hate us now?"

John shifted his gaze towards a tearful young Tommy. "No! Granny still loves you. She's just sad is all. That rose bush was very dear to her. Come I'll clean you both up." The boys had tracks of snot down their lips and teary eyes. They had been wailing since John had found them standing over the remains of the bush.

Davy came to pick the boys up just before dinner. Marilla had not yet returned. Davy found John sitting with the boys in the kitchen. He could see the boys had been crying. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"The boys have been naughty."

"I'm sorry, John. What did they do?"

"They destroyed Marilla's white rose bush."

Davy went pale "Oh, boys." He looked at them reprovingly, causing a fresh bout of crying to break out. "Where's Marilla now? I must apologise."

"She went out."

"Will she be all right? I mean how long has she been gone?"

"I hope so, it's been a few hours."

"Oh. Do you think we should send out a search party."

"No, I'm sure she'll be fine. She knows the area as well as anyone. I expect she'll be home presently. If you'll just take the boys home now."

"Of course. Tell her I'm sorry. I know that bush is irreplaceable."

"I will. She knows the boys are sorry. She just has to process it, you know."

"Come boys, it's time for dinner. Give Grandpa a hug now." Both boys reached up to give John a hug and a kiss and he waved them goodbye sadly.

Eventually, after what seemed like a long time spent looking out the window, John spied Marilla coming home. Wearily she walked up the steps to the kitchen door and walked inside. John didn't speak to her. He gently led her into the kitchen and sat her down. He'd prepared a simple supper of eggs and he watched while she ate. Then he led her to their bedroom, undressed her and laid next to her in bed. She laid her head on his chest and sighed.

He woke during the night and glanced over to her, a single tear was reflected in the sliver of moonlight that snuck through the curtains.

The next morning she slept in and he crept downstairs to call Anne.

"Oh no, poor Marilla. But it's not the end of the rose you know."

"Really?"

"I planted a cutting on Matthew's grave after he died. It should still be there."

John got dressed, took a pair of gardening scissors with him and made his way out to Matthew's grave. Sure enough sitting by his grave was a familiar thorny rose bush. Apologising to Matthew, he cut a piece off and wrapped it up in a bit of cloth he'd brought along for the purpose.

Marilla was stirring when he came home and he fetched her dressing gown to place over her shoulders and led her downstairs. She wept again when he showed her the cutting. "Anne told me it wasn't the end. That she had transplanted the rose on Matthew's grave."

'I thought, I thought it was dead. I thought I'd betrayed Mama."

"You could never do that. It was an accident. The boys are just little. They didn't understand."

"Oh, the boys. They must wonder why I reacted so."

"They are terribly sorry you know. In their little boy hearts, they never imagined how important the bush was to you."

"I know. Do they hate me now?"

"Hate you? They are your grandsons. They could never do that. They are worried that you might not love them anymore. I told them you just needed some space."

"I did at that. I was in a sorry place."

"Where did you end up?"

"I don't know. I found an old apple tree way back off the road. I spent a bit of time at its foot. Were you worried?"

"Of course, but I figured you'd come home eventually. Mind you I was about to bolt out of the house to come looking for you, if you hadn't come home when you did. I had no idea which direction to start searching though. That was the tricky part."

"I suppose I had better apologise to the children."

"Breakfast first, I think," John ordered.

When they opened the door, they found a note on the doorstep.

DeAr GraNNy

We aRe Sowwy we kilt yor RoSe

Luv

MaTtY KeiTH and TOMMy KeItH

"My heart," Marilla gasped.

"They must have dropped it in recently. I was out here just a few minutes ago," John exclaimed.

The hugs were heartfelt when Marilla and the children were reunited. "We're sorry, Granny. We'll never do it again."

"Oh my darlings. I pray you won't, but I forgive you. It's just a silly little bush, I know. But it's important to me. D'you understand? My Mama brought it out from Scotland before I was born." At the look in their eyes Marilla laughed, "yes, a very very long time ago. It was precious to her and it's precious to me."

"I thought we'd killed it, I'm sorry Granny," Tommy added.

"I thought so too, but your clever Aunty Anne had saved a bit of it for me. I had forgotten. How lucky was that? Will you boys help me plant it again?"

They made a solemn party. Marilla, John, Davy, Millie and the twins. Davy dug a big hole, the boys took a gentle hold of the thorny bush and Marilla pushed the earth down around its roots, John watered it in. With any luck the rose bush would flourish in the same spot for many years to come.

* Anne of Green Gables Chapter 37

A/N Although the Highland Clearances are better known, plenty of farmers and other workers were evicted from their homes in the Lowlands too. The Cuthberts spoke English, so I thought they might come from the Lowlands. Most Highlanders spoke only Gaelic.


End file.
